Pressure Points
by GenvieveWoolf
Summary: Dr. Spalko has a serious mean streak. What will Indy do when she threatens Mutt? This story deviates from cannon, but comes back to it in the end. Rated T for torture. Mainly Mutt-angst with a few humorous thoughts from Indy for comic relief.
1. Nerve

_Once again, I am beginning my story with a quote. I'm planning to add another chapter to this soon. __:) It will be a two-shot, if all goes according to plan._

_I know you'd never think so, but Mutt, Indy, Marion and Spalko are definitely not mine._

PRESSURE POINTS

1: Nerve

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"Don't give these pigs a thing."

How a few licks of the comb could give the kid so much daring, Indy didn't know, but he found himself somewhat admiring it.

Irina Spalko was not impressed in the slightest. "Oh, you will give me what I want, Dr. Jones," she said. "It is merely a matter of pressure points." She nodded and two of her Russian associates came forward to take Mutt by the arms as she put her sword away.

Mutt looked a little uneasy, but he stayed silent for once.

Spalko spoke a few words in Russian. One of the thugs twisted Mutt's left arm behind his back.

Mutt's eyes widened, but he still didn't make a sound.

Indy knew the teenager must be in serious pain. He kept his features as composed as he could manage.

Again, Spalko gave a command. A third thug approached the others and landed a punch squarely in Mutt's stomach.

Mutt slumped a little, which no doubt put more pressure on the arm that was already twisted so painfully.

Indy knew from experience how bad it felt to get hit in the bread basket. He was shocked that a winded moan was all that escaped Mutt. The boy's eyes remained defiant.

The next order earned Mutt a slap in the face. Not a light, I-challenge-you-to-a-duel slap, but a resounding, you'll-feel-this-tomorrow slap. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and Indy could hear his breathing growing heavier.

But somehow, there was still some fight in the rebel biker. Mutt lifted his head and looked Spalko in the eye. "Had enough?" he gasped. "Or do I need to teach you another lesson?"

Indy marveled at his guts. He needed to do something before the kid got himself killed. But as he looked around, he didn't see any way out. No way to get a weapon, no way to distract them.

Spalko's cold stare had become colder still, something Indy would not have thought possible. Her words were just as hard as her expression.

The first two thugs pulled off Mutt's leather jacket and dropped it on the ground. Then they moved apart a little, stretching Mutt's arms out.. The third man retrieved a light, springy-looking stick from a nearby table and approached Mutt from behind.

The punk was going to be beaten to death in front of him. If Indy was going to act, it had to be now, before the kid lost any of his nerve.

"You're wasting your time," he told Spalko.

"I don't think so," she replied, looking pleased that Indy had spoken.

"Then you're not as psychic as you claim."

"Really. And why do you say that?"

"First, because he won't break. And second, because I wouldn't give you anything if he did."

"That remains to be seen. I can spare him." She turned back toward Mutt and his captors. She nodded to the third thug and the switch was brought down across Mutt's back.

Mutt lurched against the brawny arms that held him, a little yelp escaping him at last. His gaze met Indy's and the young eyes weren't sure anymore. The defiance was almost spent.

"Then I guess I can spare him too," Indy said in a tone of indifference.

Mutt's eyes seemed to glaze over and he looked ready to faint. The kid knew his goose was cooked.

But then Indy winked at him. It had been enough for Shorty back in the cultic temple all those years ago. With any luck, Mutt would be as quick on the uptake as the little Chinese boy had been.

Another blow fell as Spalko turned to look at Indy with suspicion. "Oh, indeed?"

Then Mutt shouted, "You used me? You never cared if we found Ox—or my mom! All you cared about was that stupid skull!"

The whip cracked again.

Indy shrugged. "What can I say, kid? I already had everything I needed to find it—except Ox's letter."

"Go to hell," Mutt spat.

"After you," Indy replied.

_Crack._

"Enough!" said Spalko. She looked from Mutt's near-tears expression to Indy's sneering one. "Clearly, I have chosen the wrong pressure point."

Indy barely heard the rest of her statement as the thugs released Mutt. The boy fell to his knees and stayed down, panting. He didn't look up as he retrieved his jacket and slowly pulled it on.

Indy knew he couldn't talk to him yet. He couldn't do anything to let on to those villains that his part, at least, had been a ruse.

"Indiana Jones."

That voice. It wasn't possible. Indy looked up to see that his mind had _not_ been playing tricks on him. There was Marion Ravenwood. He smiled a little. The aging process had been kind to her. And it was so good to see a familiar face. He opened his arms.

"It's about time you got here," she added, moving past him.

Indy turned to find that Mutt had gotten to his feet and wiped some of the blood off his face, but the injury was still obvious.

"Mom," Mutt said, wrapping his arms around her.

"What are you doing here?" Marion demanded. "And what happened to you?"

"Mom?" Indy said, incredulously.

.

.

It was some time before Indy could talk to Mutt openly. It wasn't until the kid staged a little attempt at their rescue that they got apart from the Russians for a bit. Even though Marion and Oxley were there (well, that was debatable, in Oxley's case), Indy knew he couldn't put it off any longer.

"Hey, kid," he said quietly while they were waiting to see whether Spalko and her men had discovered which way they went. "You know I didn't mean what I said back there."

"Yeah, I know," Mutt whispered back. "You think I would have bothered to include you in our escape if I didn't?"

"Probably not," Indy agreed. "But I wanted to say I'm sorry."

Mutt shrugged. "Sticks and stones, Professor."

"No, I meant...for what they did to you."

"_What_ did they do?" Marion demanded.

"That wasn't your fault," Mutt said, looking surprised.

Indy shook his head. "They wouldn't have done it if they weren't using you to try to get me to help them."

"_Jones_," Marion said sharply, "he is my son and I insist that you tell me what happened to him!"

Fortunately...or maybe not...the Russians wandered closer then, and they scurried further into the forest.

Only to find a delightful patch of dry quicksand.

It wasn't the sand Indy minded so much. It wasn't learning the most shocking news of his life. It wasn't even that horrible snake. The worst part of that pit experience was realizing that he had watched his own son getting tortured and done nothing.

OK, so if he was honest with himself, maybe the snake _did_ bother him more.

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_Did you like it? Think it's worth another chapter? Please review and let me know! :D_


	2. Sense

_At the end of this chapter, you can resume cannon. The next morning they'll be riding along in a truck headed for Akator. :) I'm not really planning to add more to this one, but if enough people bug me, I might._

_Remember, at this point Indy knows Mutt is his son, but Mutt still has no clue.  
_

_As usual, I don't own these uber-cool characters._

PRESSURE POINTS

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2: Sense

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Marion didn't get another chance that night to pump Dr. Jones about Mutt's ordeal. That suited the professor just fine, and Mutt didn't blame him. He recalled Jones saying "I am a tenured professor of archaeology." Try throwing that in his mom's face. Tenured professor...mother on the warpath. The two didn't compare.

The Russians shoved Jones and Mutt into the same tent for the night, seeming to think that the two were still somewhat at odds and that they wouldn't be making any plans together. Mutt never would have admitted it, but he was very glad not to be alone.

Once things quieted down, Mutt heard his older companion whisper, "How's your stomach, kid?"

"Oh...I'll live," Mutt answered.

"Your arm?"

"It's OK."

"Does it have free range of motion?"

Mutt rolled his eyes in the darkness. Why couldn't the old man just say, "Can you move it?" He stretched his arm out and moved it around. "Well, it hurts. But I can move it all right."

"No torn ligaments, then?"

"How should I know?"

The correct answer was probably something like "Nope. It's fine." But since he had given a different answer, the professor was now moving toward him. Great.

"You're planning to sleep in your jacket?" Jones asked in a condescending tone.

"Got a problem with it?"

"You should keep the blanket between you and the ground and spread your jacket over you."

"Really."

The Russians had given them each one small wool blanket against the chilly night. Mutt had put it over himself—_like a normal person would_, he thought.

"Just take your jacket off for a minute—I want to make sure your arm is all right."

"It's fine."

"Don't start with me, Junior."

Mutt thought Dr. Jones really had a nerve talking to him that way, but he also figured that this would never end if he didn't comply.

"Fine. Whatever. Just remember the last time this came off, bad things happened." He shed the jacket and put it over his legs. He sat shivering in the dark.

He twitched when he felt the professor's hands on his arm, feeling his shoulder joint, then moving the arm around behind his back. The pressure was nowhere near what it had been when the Russian thug twisted it, but it still hurt.

"Hey, lay off, will ya?"

Jones let Mutt bring his arm back around in front of him. "There's certainly nothing broken," he reported, "and I don't think there's any permanent damage to the tendons. You got off easy."

"Sure. Easy."

"I can tell your _mouth_ is fine. No teeth missing?"

Mutt half-smiled. "Nah. He messed up my lip pretty good, but it'll heal."

"How about your back?"

This time Mutt knew better than to make a smart remark. "It'll be fine."

"Sure, it will. Did they break the skin?"

"I don't think so. Is there anything you could do if they had?"

"Maybe. Do you not _want_ help?"

"I didn't ask for it."

The professor sighed. "Kids," he muttered. "As if you'd ever ask for help."

Mutt reached his good arm around behind him and explored his back. "Well, they tore my shirt a little, but it didn't break the skin. Happy?"

"Good. Now put the blanket on the ground and put your jacket over you."

"Get off my back, Gramps."

"You'll be warmer that way."

"Really. Then why do people always put a flimsy sheet over the bed and the warm blankets over the top?"

"Because a bed has a _mattress_, which insulates you. The ground is stone cold and it'll sap the heat out of you. A wool blanket makes a good buffer between it and you."

_Dang, that makes sense._ Mutt silently spread the blanket over the ground and stretched out on it on his side, pulling his jacket up over his torso. To his chagrin, he did feel warmer. "The ground's hard," he complained.

"You want my jacket to put under you?"

"No," Mutt snapped immediately. "I'm not taking an old man's coat to save my hide. I'll be fine."

"You're hurt and I'm not."

"Rub it in."

Another exasperated sigh. "Do you think I'm trying to make this harder for you? I know you've been through a lot today on my account."

"I told you, that wasn't your fault." Mutt thought back to the way Dr. Jones had looked coldly at him as if he didn't care whether Mutt lived or died. "You're a pretty good actor, you know. That was a pretty good plan."

"You're not so bad yourself," Jones answered. "You had me wondering whether you'd caught on. But in the end it didn't do us much good...they still got what they wanted."

"It was worth it. They would have hurt my mom next. I'd have trashed any plan to keep that from happening."

"So would I. That's partly why I feel so bad."

Something wasn't making sense. "Um..._why_?"

"Because I'd have given them anything they wanted for Marion. But when they were hurting you I waited to formulate a plan. That's not right."

Mutt shook his head in the darkness. "It just goes to show chivalry isn't dead. I'd save my mom over _you_ any day. No offense."

"None taken." After a moment's silence, Dr. Jones said, "Listen, we don't know what we're in for tomorrow. We should try to get some sleep."

"Yeah. Do you think if they find Akator they'll let us go after?" Mutt waited. "You don't, do you?"

"I can't think of any reason they'd keep us alive."

"Then we have to get away tomorrow. Somewhere along the way."

"That's the idea. Keep your eyes open for opportunities, OK?"

"OK." Mutt swallowed. He'd never seriously thought about dying. He was too young. He was supposed to live forever—well, to outlive crusty old professors, anyway. "Professor, do you believe in life after death?"

Jones rolled over and then stayed still awhile, seeming to think it over. "Yes," he said at last.

"What do you think it's like?"

"The Egyptians—a lot of ancient civilizations, in fact—thought it was like this one, only better. Take the best things from this life and compound them."

"Yeah, but what do _you_ think?"

"I think if we go together, we'll get through it all right."

That surprised Mutt, but it was kind of nice. He thought about leaving this life with his mother, Oxley and Dr. Jones. If they all got killed together, they wouldn't be leaving anything important behind, right? Well...except his motorcycle, of course.

"Yeah," Mutt said at last. "Nobody on the other side could hold a candle to us."

Dr. Jones chuckled. "Good night, son."

Ordinarily, Mutt would have found the familiarity patronizing, but somehow he knew the professor didn't mean it to be. "Good night, Pops," he answered lightly.

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_This is the end. Instead of adding another chapter, I have decided to post the next installment as a new story, since it can stand alone. It is called "Compromise."  
_

_PS Indy's view of the afterlife is not my view. But I thought this one kept him in character and added to the story nicely.  
_


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